


Roundabout

by Kalael



Series: Hold your hand 'til the colors fade [1]
Category: Rise of the Guardians (2012)
Genre: 1940s London, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-09-13
Updated: 2013-09-21
Packaged: 2017-12-26 12:15:08
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,947
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/965813
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kalael/pseuds/Kalael
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In this life his name is Jackson Frost and he only knows of the others through the dreams he has at night.  More often than not he wakes up gasping, tears in his eyes and a vague sense of wrongness in the things around him.  He grew up in this room.  He’s had the same ink drawings framed against the wall since he was three, and the bed frame bears the scars of a pocket knife he received when he was thirteen.  This place is familiar and it should be home, but he’s been disconnected from it ever since he met General Pitchiner at his father’s retirement banquet.</p><p>A reincarnation fic.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. A Thousand Years

They live and die repeatedly, an unending pattern of a damaged cycle that will never bring them the result they desire. It’s like evaporating water that will never turn to rain, eventually drying them out until there’s nothing left. Something has been broken and so they repeat steps one and two without ever moving onto step three. One-two, one-two. Sometimes one of them skips a step and they never meet at all.

In this life his name is Jackson Frost and he only knows of the others through the dreams he has at night. More often than not he wakes up gasping, tears in his eyes and a vague sense of wrongness in the things around him. He grew up in this room. He’s had the same ink drawings framed against the wall since he was three, and the bed frame bears the scars of a pocket knife he received when he was thirteen. This place is familiar and it should be home, but he’s been disconnected from it ever since he met General Pitchiner at his father’s retirement banquet.

“You have met Kozmotis before, when you were quite small.” His mother tells him over dessert. General Pitchiner glances over from time to time, sitting in the parlour with Jack’s father and reminiscing about some military conference that Jack doesn’t care to know about. He’s more interested in the general.

“How small, exactly?” Jack asks, stabbing at his pudding with his fork. 

“I would say three years old. He used to babysit you when we lived on base, he absolutely adored you. Most of the base did, actually.” She laughs and Jack flushes with embarrassment, remembering all the stories his parents had told him about their various military friends. “But he stayed in Prague when we were moved back to London, and we hadn’t heard from him until recently. I am so glad that you remember him, though! I’m certain that Kozmotis is happy as well.”

From what Jack can tell, Kozmotis isn’t exactly pleased. He seems sad, hollowed out and filled with wax like a mockery of a man. He is young for a general, though Jack isn’t the authority on such knowledge. Kozmotis certainly looks young, maybe only in his late thirties or early forties at the most. He's probably twice Jack’s age.

But why does he remember himself and a younger Kozmotis, dreams of a time when they shared a life and a home?

It terrifies him. Jack decides that he will corner the general and ask him about it, even if it--this whole thing-- sounds crazy. He doesn’t remember the Kozmotis from a military base in Prague fifteen years ago. He remembers the Kozmotis of a thousand dreams, each different from the last, but all of them focusing around this man.

When his father goes outside for a smoke, Jack hastily escapes from the kitchen while his mother is washing the dishes. Kozmotis is sitting on the loveseat, pretending to admire a knitted afghan. Jack sits down unceremoniously beside him and frowns when Kozmotis doesn’t so much as jump.

“Hullo.” Jack starts off uneasily. Kozmotis shifts so that he is looking at Jack, feigning disinterest. Jack can tell it’s fake because of the way Kozmotis’ eyes are fixed on his own, as if waiting for something. “You’re a quiet one, aren’t you? Must make for dull conversation. Can’t even manage a greeting for the boy you used to babysit?”

“You remember that?” Kozmotis asks, and Jack feels as though there’s something more behind that question but he can’t quite place it.

“No,” he admits. “But I know you. Somehow, I do know you. Could you perhaps explain that?”

Something flashes across Kozmotis’ face, Jack can’t name it, but it sends his stomach into a twisting panic and he feels ill. He focuses on Kozmotis’ nose but his eyes inevitably trail to his lips and Jack remembers a fuzzy dream of tracing those lips with his fingertips, his tongue--

Kozmotis raises a hand to brush hair from Jack’s eyes and he flinches, because his father is just outside and his mother is in the kitchen where she could look over at any moment, but he can’t bring himself to fully push Kozmotis away. He does close his eyes as long fingers glide across his forehead, pushing white hair aside and pressing gently against Jack’s temple. He’s mortified to feel tears welling up at the corners of his eyes, but the second Kozmotis touched him he was hit with a sadness so deep that it was as if he’d lost everything dear to him in a single precious second.

“Why are you crying?” Kozmotis asks softly, his hand lingering against the side of Jack’s face.

“I’m not sure.” Jack whispers as he opens his eyes. “I suddenly just felt sad. I don’t know why. It isn’t as though you’ve done this before.” He watches Kozmotis’ face crumple slightly and he knows that somehow he’s said exactly the wrong thing.

“Haven’t I?” Kozmotis rubs his thumb over Jack’s cheekbone and the gesture is so intimiate and familiar that it cuts Jack like a knife. He’s felt these hands before and it’s not the way a three year old child knows their babysitter. He knows these hands the way a lover would. But he _shouldn’t_ , because that just isn’t possible.

“I don’t know.” Jack shakes his head, trying to get Kozmotis’ hand to move from his face, but instead he feels that rough palm slide around to the back of his neck and come to rest there. He chokes on a sob, feels warm fingers playing with the short hair at the base of his neck, and tries to maintain some sort of composure. 

“You don’t remember.” Kozmotis’ voice is pained but he isn’t moving away and Jack doesn’t want him to. 

“I don’t _understand_.” Jack says, stressing the last word. He remembers but he doesn’t know what exactly those memories are. Kozmotis moves to take his hand away and Jack grabs his wrists, keeping him in place. Long fingers settle comfortably against his neck once more, cupping it like he is someone cherished. Jack can feel the memories at the back of his mind, pressing forward and demanding to be acknowledged. 

“Neither do I, but at least I remember.” Kozmotis mutters, and for some reason the unfairness of that statement hurts Jack more than the sorrow does. 

“I _do_ remember! I remember kissing you, falling asleep on your bed, eating the food you made for me! I remember knotting your tie in the morning and visiting you in the hospital! I remember seeing you die!” Jack realizes that his whispering is getting too loud and he holds his breath, listening for noise. The radio is on in the kitchen and he can hear his mother putting the dishes away. His father is still out smoking, he always finishes a cigarette before he comes back inside. Kozmotis is looking at him with familiar sad eyes and Jack feels the need to take that sadness away. 

“I just don’t understand _why_ I remember these things, or why we’ve been around so many times. I don’t understand why I can’t remember any happy endings.” He finishes helplessly. Kozmotis's face finally softens, the wrinkles on his forehead smoothing and his jaw relaxing. Jack can feel his pulse underneath his thumb, steady and strong. 

“Because we never had any.” Kozmotis says quietly. It's a punch to the gut and Jack exhales as though the breath has been knocked out of him. His cheeks are still wet with tears as he drops his hand from where it was holding Kozmotis' own hand in place. Kozmotis withdraws slowly, wiping a few tears from Jack's chin before he fully retreats. 

"But we've done this before, right? Many, many times before. You were a king, once." Jack is scrambling for the bits of memories, half forgotten dreams of lives gone by. He snatches up images of horses and cabins and gilded scepters, desperate to piece together a continuous timeline when deep down he knows there isn't one. 

"And you were once a prince." Kozmotis smiles faintly. "We've had a thousand lifetimes, you and I. And we may have a thousand more." Thousands upon thousands of lives, constantly trying to meet one another and hoping that the other might remember them. Jack wonders if Kozmotis has ever forgotten the way Jack has in this life. He refuses to think about it. 

“Jack, are you crying?” Kozmotis nearly curses when Jack’s father enters the parlor, bemused by the sight of his sobbing son. 

“He was telling me about Palestine.” Jack manages to say, saving both his and Kozmotis’ skin from an awkward moment. Jack's father immediately relaxes and his expression becomes sympathetic. 

"Yes, that's a difficult one to talk about. There were a great many things about the Arab uprising in Palestine that I dare not dwell on. But it's good that Koz has taken it upon himself to tell you of it, it's much better from an experienced soldier than from a tabloid. God bless the Queen and all that, but the rot in the media is embarrassing." Jack recognizes a long winded rant in the making and he stands up, scrubbing at his cheeks with his palms. 

"Right, yeah. Da, I thinking I'm going to take a walk. Clear my head a bit." He glances out the window and sees the orange sunset glinting like firelight over the roofs of the buildings around them. The sight makes him uneasy but he needs to get out of the house before he tension snaps him into pieces. 

"Suit yourself, Jack. Grab a handkerchief from your mother before you go, and try to be back before dark. It may be summer holiday but you still need to study for university, you know. It's not all fun and games." His father smiles, ever indulgent of his only child, and Jack gives a weak smile in return. 

"Yeah, yeah. Hard work and deadlines, we've talked about this before. Be back before dark." Jack shoots Kozmotis a look but the man is staring out the window, ignoring him. It stings to be pushed aside like that, but Jack is almost grateful or the distance. He needs to think, he needs to sort out this information. 

None of Jack’s questions had really been answered, but at least now he understands a little better. Part of him resents Kozmotis for that. He could have gone his whole life without meeting the man. That thought sends Jack running out the door, sprinting down the street until he’s out of breath and mopping up tears with the sleeve of his shirt. He can't imagine a life without ever meeting Kozmotis. He can't imagine forgetting their history, their hundreds of unhappy endings that they've been working to undo. Jack can't imagine it, but he is eighteen years old and has only just met him in this life. 

He could have gone another twenty years and never understood a damn thing. 


	2. A Thousand More

Kozmotis becomes a fairly regular fixture in the Frost family’s life. He’s a bachelor with a lame leg who has to use a cane to get around, so Jack’s mother immediately begins to fret over him. Jack and his father find Kozmotis’ flustered irritation at the attention absolutely hilarious. The result of such attention is that Kozmotis is frequently over for dinner, occasionally for lunch, and quite often for tea. Jack is always torn between avoiding him and crowding his space until they are forced to interact.

They don’t talk about their past lives or the dreams that become increasingly violent. Jack wakes up with phantom pains of fatal wounds given three hundred years ago. He wants to wake up next to Kozmotis, wrapped around him with their foreheads pressed together. but each morning he is alone with nothing but cold sheets. He wants to change that. He can’t live like this, knowing what he could have and what he has had.

He corners Kozmotis during one of rare times they they are alone. His father is at a lecture and his mother has gone for last minute groceries, leaving the pair on their own. Kozmotis retreated immediately to the parlor, a neutral zone where they both silently agreed to feign ignorance. Since they are alone, Jack throws that unspoken rule out the door.

“We shouldn’t run from each other.” He says, catching Kozmotis off guard for once as he sits down next to him. “It’s obvious that we’re connected. Whether I remember as much as you or not, I’m drawn to you. Don’t you think it’s unfair to pretend as if nothing has happened between us?”

“It’s not unfair if you’re not fully aware of what you’re saying.” Kozmotis says coolly, shutting the book he had been perusing. “I find it hard to believe that you would have remembered all that I have known in just a few scant weeks.”

“You don’t know anything.” Jack spits, furious at being treated like a child.

“Sure I do. You’re Jack Frost. You make a mess wherever you go.” Kozmotis gives him a sharp smile as he throws out the phrase Jack’s parents have been telling him for years. It had always been a joke, a light-hearted jab at Jack’s messy organization, but the way Kozmotis says it hurts beyond anything Jack has felt in this lifetime.

“I’ve not yet made a mess of this.” Jack says, voice quivering. “I’ve not made a mess of us. I love you, I know that. I’ve loved you always and nothing you say or do will ever change that.”

“Jack…” Kozmotis looks sad, a familiar expression on that sharp face, and Jack leans over to kiss him. It’s not like any other kiss he’s had in this life. They all dull in comparison, as cheesy and ridiculous as it sounds in Jack’s own mind. The texture of Kozmotis’ lips, the way they move against one another, they’re all familiar to him despite this being their first kiss in this life. Kozmotis hesitates but Jack pushes forward, eager to prove he hasn’t ruined this. They can still get it right.

“I hope you know what you’re doing.” Kozmotis says as they break apart. “Because I sure as hell don’t.”

“Well, we can both figure it out together.” Jack laughs. They kiss again, separating when they hear Jack’s mother unlocking the door. When they part it’s on much better terms, and the distance hurts far more than it did before.

It takes a few weeks and the beginning of Jack’s first year at the Slade before they move in together and quietly declare themselves lovers to one another. Jack’s parents are thrilled to see him so interested in schooling, and they don’t mind that Jack has moved in with Kozmotis because he is such a good family friend. They suspect nothing, and that is the way Jack means to keep it. When he turns nineteen he is interrogated by recruiters at the school, and he managed to slip away by lying about his age and reasons for being there. The war does not feel real to them. It’s nothing new, it’s something they have been preparing for and keeping in mind for years. It was something that could not be ignored. Britain is on high alert, and Jack can’t help but be a bit frightened.

“I’m scared.” He admits late one night, when they are lying in bed and curled against one another. “I know what might happen. I’d rather it didn’t. We’ve been through quite enough.”

Kozmotis gives Jack an ageless smile, one that speaks of the myths they created and the stories that went untold, and they kiss until the sun rises through the thin curtains of their flat.

Jack is not yet twenty and he has not been called upon to serve in the military, though they are aware that it’s only a matter of time before he is conscripted. Kozmotis schemes up ways to keep him off the roster, throwing ideas left and right. Jack refuses any of the reserved occupations, from farmer to scientist. He remembers fighting in numerous wars for various reasons, he remembers how pointless it was in the end. Winning or losing side, it doesn’t matter. He will not die at the end of someone’s weapon this time.

Kozmotis receives a summons for his appearance at a conference and Jack tears it up before it ever reaches the kitchen table. Another letter arrives after the conference date, stating that Kozmotis will not be needed. Jack tears that letter up as well. They continue to live quietly in their small neighborhood of family owned shops and bicycles. In other parts of the world there is war and death and misery, but here there is peace for however long that may last.

They don’t expect the bombing, not in the way that they thought they would. It wasn’t as though they hadn’t considered it a possibility, because aerial raids were a very real threat and the necessary precautions had been taken. They don’t expect the bombing the same way one does not expect an ill patient to suddenly turn for the worse. You have hope, and then you have reality.

Kozmotis and Jack are not at home when it happens. They are walking back from a dinner that Jack was not invited to but attended anyway, stubbornly refusing to stay at home like a kept pet while Kozmotis limps around with his cane.

“At the very least let me make certain that you don’t die on your way home.” Jack had laughed and taken Kozmotis’ arm to escort him out the door. It had been a lovely dinner and they had hooked their arms together on the quiet walk back to their flat. Kozmotis steals a kiss as they pass through an alley, and then the air raid sirens start.

Jack looks utterly calm as he pulls Kozmotis to him, urging him down the street more quickly. He’s determined even as Kozmotis tells him to run without him. Part of Kozmotis is convinced that the bombing is far from where they are, closer to Central London and Covent Garden maybe, but now they watch in horrified silence as blazes of orange and red flare up just a few blocks over. The sound is deafening. It’s hell on earth.

The rumble of planes overhead sends Kozmotis diving for the ground, a reaction ingrained into him from years of military training. Jack is too slow, and does not duck as a building down the road is hit. He doesn’t make a sound as he falls backwards, stunned by the explosion and hit by shrapnel which pierces through his side. Unthinking, he pulls it out and watches dumbly as blood pools beneath his hands. His ears are ringing. He can barely hear Kozmotis screaming his name right beside him, scrambling to staunch the flow of blood coming from his wound.

Jack reaches up to cover his mouth and tastes bitter copper against his tongue. When he pulls his hand away it’s smeared with blood.

“Jack, Jack can you move?” Kozmotis sounds far away, muffled, like maybe he’s underwater. Jack can barely make out the words, they’re so garbled.

“Yeah, I think so.” Nothing hurts yet. It must be the adrenaline that makes him so numb, and it’s definitely the adrenaline that gives him the strength to stand and hobble with Kozmotis’ support to a partially destroyed shop front. They collapse together onto the floor. One of the windows is already shattered and there is rubble from the blown in doorway scattered across the ground.

The pain sets in and Jack gasps, curling into Kozmotis’ arms and clenching his hands into fists as he tries to ignore the burning in his side. He can feel the blood pumping from the wound, he has no idea how big it actually is but his shirt is destroyed and the area is a mess of pulpy flesh. He wrenches his eyes away from it to look at Kozmotis.

“We won’t get our happy ending this round.” Jack laughs weakly. He knows that there’s nothing to be done about his injury. Even if they make it to a hospital, they’ll be too overrun with other injured patients from the blasts. “What a shame. We were doing so well.” His voice cracks, he can’t help it. He wanted so badly for it to be perfect this time.

“No, it’s going to be fine. We’re going to be fine and this time we’ll get it right.” Kozmotis stumbles over his words in his rush to say them. His expression is one of disbelief and he is holding Jack tightly, pressing a hand over the wound as if he could somehow stitch it back together through sheer willpower.

“Hey, I’m Jack Frost, remember? I make a mess of everything.” Jack offers up a smile that doesn’t fit quite right against his mouth, which still tastes of blood. He hates that taste of bitter defeat.

“This wasn’t your fault.” Kozmotis tells him. He’s trying to stay composed but it’s not working, not with the way his brow is furrowed and how his voice has gone reedy and thin.

“It wasn’t,” Jack agrees, “but I think after a few thousand rounds of this we have to admit that maybe, just maybe, I’ve been doing something wrong. I should have stayed home like you asked.”

“No, Jack, no. I’m so happy you’ve been with me. It’s all I wanted. I’m sorry. We’re going to be fine. We’ll make it out of here together, I promise.” Kozmotis kisses his forehead, his cheeks, his bloody lips. Jack wraps his arms around his neck and holds him close, desperate to feel Kozmotis’ heartbeat against his own.

“I love you. I love you so much, I’ve loved you in every life and I’ll love you in the next. I swear to god I will. Just find me. Please. Don’t forget.” He makes Kozmotis promise to him, although he knows it doesn’t matter what is sworn in this life. It won’t matter in the next. They may not even meet in the next. Kozmotis cradles Jack to his chest.

“I’ll never forget.” He vows uselessly.

“Hang onto me.” Jack pleads, and for once there is pure terror in his eyes. He’s not afraid of death. He’s died many, many times before. “I don’t want to be alone.”

“You’ll never be alone, I’ll always be here.” Kozmotis holds Jack to him until he feels that small body go limp in his arms. Jack’s heartbeat no longer thumps against his own chest but he still holds onto him because he doesn’t know what else to do.

Now that Jack is gone, there isn’t anything else to do.

Kozmotis rests his forehead against Jack’s, recalls the last time they kissed. The rubble beneath his knees digs into his skin and he can feel the vibrations of the bombing in the distance. It’s closer now, maybe just a block away. He’d failed this time, and maybe next time Jack would be the one to fail, but there is always the hope of the next chance. Maybe next time things will be different. He cradles Jack in his arms and closes his eyes, knowing that with Jack gone he won’t be staying much longer. The times of their rebirths had always been directly correlated to the times of their deaths. He can’t wait much longer.

The window next to him shatters with another explosion. Kozmotis presses his lips to Jack’s forehead.

If at first you don’t succeed, try, try again.


End file.
